


In the damaged corners where you hide

by livthelion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean and Cas as awkward turtle roomates, Dean is v proud, ITS GR8, M/M, Sam is a college prof, contrary to what the title implies this is mostly gonna be fluff, i use big words when i drink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livthelion/pseuds/livthelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So when are we moving?”</p><p>Sam fidgets uncomfortably. “Well, uh, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” </p><p>Dean’s smile fades.</p><p>“See, Dean, <em>we’re</em> not moving,” Sam says. <em>“I’m</em> moving.”</p><p>“What.”</p><p>-</p><p>Or Sam gets a promotion and decides to move out. Dean handles it well, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the damaged corners where you hide

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this on and off for the last couple of years, so I have a bit saved up and a shit ton of notes. Plus I'm avoiding working on my other shit rn so I'll probably end up posting the next bit sooner rather than later :D
> 
> p.s. there are probably some mistakes because i checked this over not sober and now I'm too lazy to recheck it. Also I am currently not sober .I'll do that later doe
> 
> title from ‘Porchlights’ by Glass Oaks
> 
> ‘It gets under my skin  
> and now I don’t know why I  
> I can’t get you out of the confines of my mind  
> In the damaged corners where you hide’

“We need to talk.”

Sam is standing off to the side, wringing his hands, looking as if he might’ve been waiting by the door awhile. That should’ve been Dean’s first clue that something shitty was about to happen, but he’s having a good day, a good week really, so he’s not as apprehensive as he’d normally be.

Dean kicks off his shoes. “Okay, sure,” he says easily.

He flops down on the sofa and sets his feet on the coffee table, gesturing for Sam to join him. Sam rolls his eyes, but sets his freakishly large self down on the couch across from him and leans forward, hands clasped loosely in his lap.

They sit in silence until Dean finally loses patience and asks, “What’s up, Sammy?” because it’s been a few minutes and Sam’s not said a word.

Sam stares at the table between them, brow furrowed and mouth pursed like he’s working out how to phrase something. It’s his _‘I’m about to tell you something you’re not going to like’_ face, and if Dean wasn’t feeling that apprehension before, he’s certainly feeling it now.

He fights the urge to cringe.

“So I’ve got some news,” Sam says finally. “Now, don’t freak out—”

Which is the worst possible thing for him to say, because, of course, it means that Dean immediately freaks out.

“What the hell did you do? Did you scratch my freaking car?” Dean demands, jumping to his feet. He knew, he _knew_ he shouldn’t have let Sam use his car while his piece of shit Prius was in the shop. He should’ve told _Sam_ to carpool, never mind that none of his fancy college professor buddies live on this side of town and Benny lives right down the street and doesn’t mind swinging by to get Dean on the way to work.

“Dean, no!” Sam protests just as Dean wrenches the door to their apartment open, about to run outside to inspect his baby, shoes be damned. “Jesus, I didn’t scratch the car! The car’s fine!”

Dean turns around, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Sam exhales loudly through his nose. “It has nothing to do with the car, Dean.”

Dean opens his mouth. “And no, it has nothing to do with the last piece of pie either,” Sam snaps, aggravated.

Dean grins and lets the door swing shut. Sammy really does know him too well. He makes his way back to the living room and sprawls out on the couch again. “Well, then, what’s the problem?”

“It’s not a problem, per se...”

“Just spit it out, Sam,” Dean says, starting to get worked up again.

Sam takes a calming breath and rakes a hand through his (too long, in Dean’s opinion) hair. “Look, I— I got a promotion.”

Dean freezes, caught off guard. He was expecting Sam to yell at him for leaving the cap off the toothpaste again or to stop putting his feet on the table, stop bringing home strange women. Not…that.

“I thought there weren’t going to be any openings for a while,” Dean says, “Isn’t that what that douchebag Zach told you?”

Sam’s mouth twitches in amusement, but he fixes Dean with his customary look of disapproval. “There wasn’t. Not up until very recently,” he clarifies. “There was an...incident _._ Someone caught one of the professors having, uh, _relations_ with a student. In the faculty room.” Dean laughs, delighted, while Sam struggles to keep a straight face. “Not too sure how they figured that was a good idea.”

“Who was it? I know you know.”

Sam rubs his jaw, debating. “Well—”

“No, wait, don’t tell me,” Dean cuts in, waving his hands around. “It was that British dude, Bal-something?”

“Balthazar?” Sam asks drily. Dean nods. “Surprisingly not, guess again.”

“Fuck, okay. What about that hot chick, the one that got all handsy at your birthday party. What was her name again?”

Sam takes on a pinched expression. “Professor Barnes. Pamela.”

“Pamela,” Dean drawls, wagging his eyebrows. “She wanted me.”

Sam gives him a Look. “She wanted _both_ of us. Simultaneously.”

Aw, fuck, that’s right. Dean shudders. He’d actually forgotten about that. He’s pretty good at the whole repressing traumatizing events thing.

“Back to the thing we were talking about,” he says, oh so subtly changing the subject.

Sam flashes him a grin. “It was Zachariah.” Dean grimaces, feeling sorry for the poor soul who was doing so badly in class, they agreed to sleep with that ball of sleaze. “Crowley took his spot and has been making some serious changes. A lot of people are pissed, actually. But I heard about an opening, so I applied. Honestly, I didn’t think I had chance, but I got called in for the interview on Tuesday and got the news about an hour ago.”

Dean nods slowly, a wide smile breaking out as he processes that. “This is good, isn’t it?”

Sam smiles back, but it’s more reserved. “They’ve bumped me up to full-time. It’s a pretty decent sized raise,” he says.

Dean leaps off the couch and tackles Sam into a bear hug.

“That’s great, Sammy!” Dean crows right into his ear. “Congrats, man!”

Sam winces and thumps him on the back, laughing. “Thanks, Dean.” He shoves Dean back towards his own couch and sits back, then sits forward, elbows back on his knees.

“The only thing is,” Sam begins, not making eye contact, “I’ve been getting pretty tired of the commute and with the raise I can afford to live somewhere closer…” He looks at Dean cautiously. “So, uh, I found a new apartment.”

Dean beams. New job for Sammy, nicer digs, this is the best fucking news ever.

“That’s awesome, man! So when are we moving?”

Sam fidgets uncomfortably. “Well, uh,that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dean’s smile fades. He’s starting to see where this is heading.

Sam chuckles, nervous, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “See, Dean, _we’re_ not moving. _I’m_ moving.”

Dean blinks at him and Sam shifts around on the couch, breaking eye contact.

“What.”

 _“I’m_ moving?” Sam repeats, but it sounds uncertain, more of a question now.

“I’m sorry?” Dean asks, leaning in as if to better hear the absolute horse shit that’s coming out of his little brother’s mouth. “I could’ve sworn you just said that you were moving. _Without me.”_

“I thought maybe you’d want to keep the apartment?” Sam tries weakly.

“Very considerate, but nah.” Dean waves a hand dismissively. “I’m good with moving.”

“About that… Single room, sorry,” Sam says with a bright smile. He claps Dean on the back and stands, heads for the fridge. Dean sits on the couch, completely flummoxed, while Sam pulls out a drink and pops open the tab. He takes a drink and sees Dean gaping at him. He tips the can towards Dean, “Beer?”

Dean sputters, face turning angry red. “What the fuck am _I_ supposed to do, Sammy? Where am I gonna end up, huh?”

Sam rolls his eyes, like Dean is being dramatic for freaking out over potentially having nowhere to live.

“You don’t have to leave, Dean,” Sam says, tone patient.

“What the fuck do you mean, I don’t have to leave? You _know_ I can’t afford to live here on my own!”

“So get a roommate,” Sam helpfully suggests.

“Get a _roommate?”_ Dean repeats disbelievingly. “Do you _know_ me?”

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends? Or one of the many, many-” Dean’s eyes narrow dangerously “-many girls that choose to spend their nights here?” Sam’s mouth twitches, suppressing a smile. “I’m sure they’d love to help you out.”

“Ugh, no, girls are clingy,” Dean shudders.

“Friends then? Jo?” Sam suggests. His brow furrows, “No, Jo just signed the lease on her new place. What about that Gabe guy?”

Dean gives him a look, like _are you being serious, right now_.

“You’ve never actually met him, so I can’t really hold that against you,” he says. “But no, it’s never gonna happen. Gabe has a ‘thing’ for pranks.” Understatement, such a fucking understatement. “I’d end up getting my eyebrows shaved in my sleep or something and then I’d have to kill him. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m way too pretty for prison.”

Sam rolls his eyes again. “I can put an ad up for you, if you want.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Sammy,” Dean growls. “I’ll figure something out.” He stalks off to his room.

He hears Sam groan behind him. “Oh, c’mon. Dean—”

He makes sure to slam the door as hard as he can—just to show Sam how _not_ okay with this he is—and throws himself face first at his bed. He absolutely does not pout for the rest of the afternoon because he is a grown man and pouting is immature, which he is not.

“‘I can put an ad up for you if you want,’” Dean mimics, high-pitched into his pillow. “Yeah, well, fuck you, _Samantha._ I don’t need you.”

Okay, so maybe he’s a little immature.

.-.

“Can you freaking believe that shit?” Dean says for the hundredth time to his best friend/unsavory fiend, Gabe.

“Yes, for the last fucking time, I can believe it,” Gabe mutters under his breath, flipping the page of Dean’s latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties.

Dean doesn’t even know how he got it, it was in the night stand in his freakin’ room and Gabe hadn’t even been out of the living room as far as Dean knew, but he leaves it alone, having long since learned not to ask questions he’d most likely rather not know the answers to.

“He’s just leaving!” Dean continues, choosing to ignore Gabe and his utter lack of sympathy. “Leaving me on my own to find someone who’ll— Gabe. Gabe, are you listening to me?”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how bangable is your brother?” Gabe asks, finally looking up from the magazine.

Dean stares at his best friend for a good ten seconds before saying, “Were you thinking about fucking my little brother while I was sitting here pouring my heart out, Gabriel?”

Gabe scoffs. “I would hardly call it pouring your heart out, Dean-O.” He takes another pull from a can of the cheer-up booze he’d “brought over for Dean” before saying, “Bitching. You’ve been sitting there bitching for the last hour about your potentially hot little brother leaving you homeless.” Dean gives him a dark look. “You know what I mean, D-Man,” Gabe sighs long-sufferingly.

“Stop thinking about doing my baby brother,” Dean mutters. “I’ll kill you.” Gabe rolls his eyes and mumbles something about princesses and ivory towers and chastity belts that Dean ignores.

“I wouldn’t mind if you thought about doing _my_ brothers,” Gabe says solemnly.

“You don’t have any.” And Dean doesn’t swing that way, but that goes without saying.

“I have five. Mike, Luke, Raphael, Uriel and Castiel,” Gabriel ticks them off on his fingers like he’s afraid he’ll lose count or something. Judging by how drunk he is right now, that’s probably not too far off.

“Oh,” Dean says eventually. “How come I didn’t know you had brothers?”

“Same reason I’ve never met yours.”

“Which is?”

Gabe turns back to his magazine disinterestedly. “You tell me.”

Dean mulls that over and ends up forgetting what he was thinking about. He shrugs and goes to grab another beer.

“Ooh, me too,” Gabe calls after him.

Dean tosses him a can and takes out the last three. No use in leaving them behind if he’s just gonna end up grabbing them in a few minutes anyways. He throws another one at Gabe without bothering to give him a heads up.

It lands with a loud _smack_ and Gabe rubs his arm and glares at Dean accusingly. Teach him for thinking about having sex with his little brother.

The look shifts and an evil little smile spreads across Gabe’s face. It disappears almost instantly, but that doesn’t really matter because Dean’s already seen and recognized that smile and that is the smile of vengeance.

The worst thing about it is that Gabriel is endlessly patient and the counter-attack can come at any time.

Ah, shit. What has he _done?_

.-.

Gabe downs the last of his beer and slams it down. Dean glances up from the television, startled.

“Speaking of weirdos living together—” Gabe starts casually.

Dean blinks. “Wait. We weren’t—”

“—I just remembered that my baby brother has been looking for a place in the city and—”

“Gabe, I don’t know—”

“Great, I’ll tell him to come take a look then!” Gabe shoots Dean a grin as he taps out a message on his phone and gets to his feet. “I better get going. Once the booze runs out, so do I. Good bitchfest, let’s never do this again.” He blows Dean a kiss and leaves.

Dean buries his face in his hands and wonders why everyone he knows is an asshole.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments + kudos are much appreciated :)
> 
> I spend what can probably be classified as an "unhealthy amount of time" on [tumblr](livthelion.tumblr.com)  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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